


Five Stages

by bruinsand1d22



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 18:05:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1574705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruinsand1d22/pseuds/bruinsand1d22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first four times he feels it, Mickey pushes it to the back of his mind where it unknowingly grows like fire. The fifth time he feels it, the fire consumes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Stages

The first time the feeling hit, Mickey blamed it on the chicken they’d stolen for lunch, nothing more than a pang in the depths of his stomach.

 

They were working late at the Kash & Grab, but neither boy was itching to leave, Mickey unadmittingly contempt to lounging behind the counter and listening to Ian ramble on about his latest family drama or his future in the army. They had the radio on low, some oldies rock station they’d finally agreed on, the humid summer night leaving them incapable to move more than a few feet from the small fan in the corner.

 

Ian was telling a story about Fiona’s new boyfriend, something about a “secret life" and fancy cars, but Mickey was only half listening, attention drawn to the strip of skin showing where Ian’s tee-shirt rode up as he waved his arms around. Mickey had to wipe the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead to force himself to look away, just then noticing the sudden lull in Ian’s story.

 

Ian had stopped talking in mid-sentence, his hands still in the air, and Mickey watched as he tilted his head towards the counter, his eyes scrunching up in recognition.

 

“I love this song!”

 

Mickey was unprepared for Ian’s outburst of energy, watching in quiet amusement as the other boy reached forward for the radio, turning the volume dial until the store was filled with the heavy rocker voice of Joan Jett.

 

Mickey bit his lip hold back his smile, crossing his arms as Ian stood up behind the counter, arms raised, jerking his body around with the beat, belting the lyrics to the song’s classic chorus so loud the entire street could probably hear.

 

“ _I love rock n’ roll, put another dime in the jukebox baby_ ,”  Ian turned and winked at Mickey, and Mickey groaned in second-hand embarrassment.

 

“Jesus Gallagher,” Mickey couldn’t help but laugh out as Ian air guitared his way around the store, almost knocking over a stack of fruit they had just finished organizing.

 

Making his way back to his stool next to Mickey, Ian grabbed an empty beer bottle, lip-singing the words into it, tossing his head back and kicking a foot into the air. Mickey watched him with amusement, a smile stretched across his face, a deep but new feeling creeping into his stomach.

 

When Ian was back in front of the shorter boy, Mickey could see the flush in his cheeks and the dampness lining his skin and clothing from the unnecessary exertion, the brightness in his eyes shinning with Ian’s characteristic charm.

 

And Mickey felt it. He ignored it, let the feeling pass as Ian plopped back down next to him, turning the radio back down, picking up his story right where he left off like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t seen the split second flicker through Mickey’s eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

The second time he felt it was at the dugout, the brisk December night surrounding him as he sat alone on the bench, waiting for the sound of footsteps. All he’d sent was a short “go to the field” to Ian’s phone, knowing it would be enough to send the other boy skipping across the couple blocks.

 

Mickey had only been waiting for 5 minutes when he heard the heavy steps and quiet humming coming from behind the dugout. Ian entered the small structure with the usual bounce in his step, but stopped in his tracks when he saw Mickey stiffly turn his neck; saw the bruises lining his face, the blood trickling from his nose and lip, the subtle shakes running through his legs as they sat exposed to the cold through the rips in his jeans.

 

There were no prodding questions, no gasps of horror or jokes at his expense. Ian was quiet as he pulled off his thick coat and placed it around Mickey, gentle touches cradling his shoulders as Ian sat next to him. Mickey let himself fall against Ian’s strong shoulder, breathing in the scent of outdoors and detergent and the hint of cinnamon spice that came with the red-head.

 

Ian knew. He knew about shitty homes and abusive fathers and fights that you just can’t win. Ian knew without Mickey saying anything, knew Mickey would never thank him, and Mickey knew Ian didn’t expect him to.

 

They ended up face to face on the cement floor, huddled together under the coat, Ian’s strong arms cradling Mickey, his gentle hands wiping the dark blood from his face with careful concentration. Anger flashed through Ian’s eyes when Mickey flinched every now and then under the touch, and the dark haired boy closed his eyes to focus on the tenderness of his fingers, the unspoken words settling in his mind, and Mickey forgot he wasn’t supposed to wish for this.

 

When Ian kissed him it was slow and raw, lips pressed to broken lips, and that’s when Mickey felt it, again pressing it to the back of his mind so he could settle into Ian, pulling his warmth closer to envelope him.

 

Sometimes he forgot it was possible to feel safe; sometimes he thought he didn’t deserve to remember.

 

 

 

 

 

The third time was completely due to the weed; his judgment clouded and sense heightened, his guard no longer up to prevent the flood of feelings inside him.

 

They were locked up in Mickey’s bedroom, naked bodies tangled together under a thin blanket, a joint passing between them slowly.

 

When Mickey plucked the stick from Ian’s long fingers, he felt the other boy shift around him until he was completely on top of Mickey’s dazed form, looking down at Mickey with slightly blood-shot eyes and a toothy smile.

 

And then his mouth was on Mickey’s neck, his tongue licking along his collarbone and breathing hot breaths along the wet marks, watching the goose bumps rise along the skin.

 

“Stop, that tickles,” Mickey giggled out, trying to squirm away from Ian’s grasp, but instead finding his hands locking on Ian’s hips above his own, his giggles turning breathless when Ian started nibbling on his shoulder.

 

“You taste so good though.” Ian’s voice was higher than normal as he ran his nose along Mickey’s jaw line and up to his ear. “Like, really good,” he repeated, biting at Mickey’s ear to show it.

 

And Mickey couldn’t take it anymore, moving his head so his lips could find Ian’s, sucking needily into Ian’s open mouth. Their tongues crashed together, Ian’s arms coming up to cradle Mickey’s head so he could turn closer, their hips grinding together impulsively, a loud moan escaping into the room from deep in Mickey’s throat.

 

He momentarily remembered the joint sitting between his fingers on Ian’s hip, and gently shrugging his arm up between them, Mickey pulled back from Ian’s swollen lips, keeping their faces no more than an inch apart.

 

Maintaining deep eye contact, Mickey sucked in a long drag of weed, only stopping when he felt his eyes beginning to water. Dropping the stick in the ashtray next to his bed, Mickey pulled Ian’s lips gently to his own, letting out his breath into Ian’s waiting lungs, body tingling at the intensity of the action when Ian breathed in, taking in the weed and licking at the inside of Mickey’s mouth.

 

It was intimate in a strange southside way, something Mickey had only heard about but never actually done, and when Ian pulled back again to look down at him, Mickey couldn’t push away the feeling this time, didn’t really want to if it meant he didn’t have to be alone.

 

When Ian spread him open and pressed inside unusually slow, Mickey knew he was doomed. There was no way to escape from it, so he just held on, feeling Ian fill him completely, rubbing at Mickey’s sides when his shivers started, each thrust hitting Mickey in the way he’d grown addicted to.

 

He knew Ian was close when he drooped his body against Mickey’s, his forehead finding Mickey’s neck.

 

“I love you.”

 

The words were whispered against his skin like a secret, and all Mickey could do was cling to Ian tighter, nodding quickly before Ian’s hips snapped uncontrollably and they both were lost, the feeling passing between them like fire.

 

 

 

 

 

  

The next time Mickey felt it was a breezy Chicago afternoon, Ian taking him by surprise in a way Mickey had grown to love.

 

He’d been sitting on the couch, all by himself on an unusually quiet Sunday. When he texted Ian, actually told him they had an empty house to put to good use, the fucker had declined, spouting out some stupid shit about having “other plans”.

 

And no, Mickey couldn’t admit it was bothering him, didn’t care about Ian having interests outside of him. He just resulted to staring blankly at some cooking show, too bored out of his mind to even scrounge around for beer.

 

When he heard knocking on the door, Mickey rolled his eyes, preparing himself to dump all his pent-up anger on whoever-the-fuck would come to his house on a Sunday. When Mickey didn’t get up fast enough, the knocking came again, making Mickey curse under his breath as he crashed towards the door.

 

“The fuck do you want-“ Mickey’s harsh tone was cut off by the sight of a grinning Ian standing on his porch, an eager look plastered across his face. Mickey had to remind himself he was supposed to be mad at the other boy, forcing himself to narrow his eyes and cross his arms.

 

“Hey Mick!” Ian greeted cheerfully, and Mickey bit his bottom to avoid returning the smile.

 

“Thought you had big plans today,” and gee, if that didn’t make him sound like a clingy piece of shit.

 

Ian only rolled his eyes, shifting from foot to foot in excitement.

 

“Yep!” Ian replied, pulling a hand from behind his back that Mickey hadn’t noticed was there.

 

“The fuck –“ Mickey couldn’t get anything else out before a shiny black helmet was being pushed into his hands, Ian pulling at his arm to get Mickey to follow him. Just as he as about to keep complaining, Ian stepped to the side so Mickey could see it. There, at the edge of his lawn, was a small, black motocycle.

 

Mickey went quiet, eyes shifting from the helmet in his hands to the bike and back, before looking to an anxiously awaiting Ian.

 

“Did you steal it?”

 

Ian laughed, running a hand through his short hair and down his face.

 

“No stupid, I borrowed it from a guy at school.” When Mickey raised his eyebrows, Ian rolled his eyes again. “I let him cheat off me in geometry, relax.”

 

Mickey refused to notice the hidden implications in Ian’s words, ignoring that Ian thought he cared that he talked to other guys, instead letting himself be pulled down the steps and towards the bike.

 

“Wait, where’s your helmet?” Mickey demanded, and Ian couldn’t help the knowing smile that spread across his face.

 

“Well, there’s only one, so I thought…”

 

“Fuck you firecrotch, I ain’t wearing this shit.”

 

Mickey threw the helmet across the lawn as Ian mounted the bike. Ian expected another argument about who got to drive, and was surprised when he felt the shift of the bike as Mickey swung his leg around behind him.

 

Mickey let his fingers run over the hot paint of the motorcycle’s design, the sunny afternoon causing the rims to sparkle when the bike shifted. He felt it deep in his stomach, the feeling blaring out at him, the memory of one of their drunken late night conversations when Mickey had told Ian how sometimes he dreamt of running away. Ian had looked at him curiously then, and asked how. Mickey had blurted out that it would definitely be by motorcycle, and they’d laughed and joked about biker gangs and distant highways, and every so often Ian would catch Mickey lost in thought as he aimlessly doodled out a motored bike on a scrap piece of paper in the store.

 

Mickey didn’t know Ian remembered that conversation, didn’t know he had picked up on what the idea really meant to Mickey, and when Ian looked back at Mickey from his place on the bike, the feeling swarmed through him.

 

“Where should we go?” Ian’s question had so many answers, all of which caught in Mickey’s throat, causing the shorter man to shrug.

 

“Just drive.”

 

And Ian did. He kicked the bike alive, motoring down the street and around the corner in a way that had Mickey fisting at the back of his shirt to avoid falling off. Mickey couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, the wind whipping through his hair, giving him the weightless feel he’d always imagined flying to have.

 

They sped under bridges and through intersections, Ian weaving the bike easily in and out of cars, fast enough that the city flew past them in a blur. Mickey closed his eyes and tilted his head back, listening to the roar of the wind tune out the life of the city, allowing him to focus only on the solid form in front of him, their lack of destination making Mickey laugh fully in content.

 

He felt Ian nudge his knee with his elbow, yelling a quick “hold on” over his shoulder before pulling hard on the handle bars and lifting the front tire well off the pavement.

 

Mickey let out a yelp of surprise, arms wrapping tightly around Ian’s middle as they hung in the air, staying put even when Ian returned both wheels to the pavement and continued racing fast out of the city.

 

This side of Ian, the daring, adventure seeking side rarely showed through his normally focused and determined mind, and Mickey knew he was probably the one to see it, knew that Ian letting his guard down was just as rare and reserved as Mickey himself.

 

Ian’s muscles were firm under Mickey’s grasp, his back strong where Mickey’s head lay against it, their bodies fitting together comfortably as Mickey watched the buildings disappear behind them.

 

The feeling was there; neither of them had to say anything, but Mickey felt its presence strongly. He didn’t fight it, didn’t need to now that they were away from the rules and the pressures. Instead Mickey tightened his arms around Ian, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, hoping it was enough to show what he felt but couldn’t say.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The fifth time he felt it scared the shit out of him as it arrived with the thought of losing the one thing in the world he truly needed.

 

They had been in the Gallagher kitchen, drinking beer and hovering near a frying pan that was warming their grilled cheeses. Their voices were hushed, quiet in an effort not to wake Ian’s wild family, the clock on the wall signaling a grave 2 am.

 

They’d fallen asleep watching an old Brad Pitt movie, and when Mickey woke up with his face smushed into the spot where Ian had been, he followed a tempting smell until he found the other boy in the kitchen.

 

Each was on their third sandwich, and when Ian reached out and held a half for Mickey to bite, the dark-haired boy blamed the beer and early hour for causing him to lean forward and take the piece in his mouth. Ian watch him while he chewed, both boys smiling at each other with cheese-filled mouths.

 

“Hey, do you have a suit?” Ian asked, finally breaking the eye-contact to turn towards the stove and start another sandwich.

 

Mickey let out a muffled snort. “The fuck would I have ever needed a suit for?”

 

“Well my awards ceremony for ROTC is coming up, and I think it’s pretty fancy.”

 

Mickey was watching the other boy carefully now, taking in his completely lax form and tone, like his words wouldn’t take Mickey by surprise at the slightest.

 

“And that means I need a suit because…” Mickey trailed off, an annoyed flicker in his voice catching Ian’s attention.

 

“Aren’t you coming?” Ian turned towards him, and Mickey watched when the red-head’s face changed to realization when he saw Mickey’s arms crossed and stance spread. “Right?”

 

“To play dress up with you family to some queer-bo show?” Mickey hated himself for the venom in his tone, hated himself for the responding look of hurt that clouded Ian’s face next to him in the kitchen.

 

“But when I was telling you about it last week… you said…” Ian trailed off as Mickey narrowed his eyes.

 

“I said good luck with that.”

 

Mickey watched Ian’s face drop, his hurt eyes searching Mickey’s hard face almost desperately.

 

“But Mick – “

 

“But what Gallagher, you know I can’t go.” Mickey’s voice was angrier now, and he set his beer down hard on the counter, making Ian flinch in front of him.

 

“It’s just a couple of hours though, you don’t even have to talk to anyone.”

 

Mickey turned and forced out a scoff, trying to get away from Ian’s pleading tone. They didn’t do this, didn’t bring whatever they were into their actual lives, at least pushing it away and avoiding it when they could. And even though Mickey something caught himself wondering what life would be like if he didn’t have to hide, he knew it would never happen, _could_ never happen, and he thought Ian felt the same, understood the situation and unspoken agreement.

 

“Just drop it, jesus.” Mickey said harshly, turning back in time to see Ian’s eyebrows crinkle together with frustration.

 

“I just, why can’t you just – “

 

“You know why!”

 

Mickey hadn’t meant it to come out so loud, hadn’t meant for his anger at the situation and himself to come out towards the other boy, and he watched as Ian turned his head in frustration, tears beginning to form at the edges of Ian’s eyes.

 

“Please Mickey.” And Mickey could sense the desperation, not only from Ian but in himself. All he wanted to do was pull Ian close and wipe his tears, tell him it was okay. Maybe in another place, with other people’s lives where they didn’t have to worry. “It’s important to me, the only time I’ve ever _done_ something.” Ian’s voice was muffled now in attempt to prevent his tears from spilling over, but Mickey couldn’t give in, wouldn’t knowing the pain it would wreck on them both.

 

“Good for you, doesn’t mean I care.”

 

It was a lie. He wanted to take it back as soon as the words left his mouth. Ian’s face had gone stone cold, a single tear trailing down his cheek, his eyes burning into Mickey’s own.

 

“Fuck you Mickey.” Ian’s words cut into him, and the brunette could only watch as Ian turned to pull the pan off the stove and slam it in the sink, pushing past Mickey and out of the kitchen towards the back door.

 

“Wait, where are you –“ Mickey started, but was cut off by the sharp slam of the door, leaving him alone in the now too silent kitchen.

 

Before he knew what he was doing, Mickey was at the door, slipping on the closest pair of sneakers before stumbling outside after Ian.

 

The night was blustery, the fall air hitting his bare arms in gusts, but all Mickey could think about was the pained look in Ian’s eyes, the terse and unforgiving tone in his words chilling Mickey more than the weather.

 

When he’d shuffled his way towards the front of the house and into the road, Mickey stopped, head turning frantically in search of the other boy.

 

“Gallagher?” Mickey couldn’t help the pleading tone that edged into his voice as he called out to Ian, and when he received no reply he began to panic. Holding his breath and listening as the wind momentarily died down, Mickey heard the faint shuffling of feet towards the end of the road, immediately turning his head towards the sound. His adjusting eyes locked on a quickly retreating Ian, pale skin and red hair bright against the moonlight.

 

“Gallagher!” Mickey’s call was louder this time, and he immediately started to run towards the other boy. Ian didn’t stop though, if anything he sped up in response to Mickey’s calls, turning down a street and heading towards the L tracks. Mickey followed quickly, continuing to yell to Ian as he weaved between cement cylinders.

 

“Hey, wait up! Firecrotch stop for a second!” Mickey was frustrated, but he was more scared of letting Ian out of his sight, stumbling slightly when the pavement turned to grass. “Please Ian, slow down!”

 

Ian turned his head slightly at the use of his name, slowing enough that Mickey could stumble within ten feet, stopping only when he noticed Mickey bent down to catch his breath. When Mickey stood up, Ian turned again to walk away.

 

“Wait, stop,” Mickey said loudly, surprised when Ian turned quickly and stepped towards him.

 

“What do you want Mickey?” Ian’s eyes bore deep into Mickey, and the guilt pooled inside him knowing he was the one who caused the tearstains on Ian’s pink cheeks.

 

“Where are you going?” Mickey asked honestly, rubbing his arms against the cold wind. Ian didn’t answer him, but continued to stare accusingly at the shorter boy. “It’s fucking cold out, let’s just go back.”

 

“Oh, so now you care?” Ian questioned, and Mickey wanted to say yes, he always had. But instead he didn’t what he always did, deny and hide.

 

“Stop being such a faggot,” Mickey spouted back, but his words lacked their usual toughness. And instead of just letting it happen, conforming to Mickey’s words and moving on as usual, Ian surprised himself when he opened his mouth to his thoughts.

 

“Seriously?” Ian’s voice froze them both in their spots. “A faggot?” Mickey knew where this was going, but couldn’t speak to stop it. “Well congratulations Mickey, you’re right, I am a faggot! I big, fucking cock-lover!” Mickey was speechless, didn’t know how to react other than the stand there and let Ian continue screaming. “And you know what, no one gives a fuck! Life goes on for us fags Mickey, we can have jobs, and friends, and go to fucking awards ceremonies with our fucking fag-loving families, and guess what? Not a single person I talk to gives a shit! And even if they do, in the end I’m better off because I don’t give in!”

 

Ian jabbed a finger towards Mickey with his words, the fury on his face new to Mickey, something he never wanted to cause, never wanted to see again. “I just – “ Ian stuttered, his pause causing Mickey to step towards him unconsciously, his instinct to protect and comfort the boy standing in front of him overriding the constant voices in his head screaming at him to leave.

 

Ian continued talking before Mickey reached him though, this time his voice low and defeated. “I just can’t do this anymore.”

 

Mickey froze again, Ian’s words ringing through his ears. “Wh-what?” Mickey sputtered out, his tongue feeling heavy, his mouth dry, mind focused in on the slouch in Ian’s shoulders, the way his long fingers cradled his face like he was fighting with himself.

 

“This, this lie, Mickey. I can’t do it anymore. It’s too much.”

 

And Mickey should have been mad, should have been denying that they had anything in the first place. But he couldn’t. Couldn’t erase the thought that Ian didn’t want to be around him anymore. He’d know it was bound to happen, but he still didn’t expect it to feel like this, like someone had just knocked the wind from his lungs, so fast that he couldn’t form words.

 

Ian was static in front of him, eyes blinking heavily like it was an effort to open them at Mickey. Mickey realized Ian was waiting for him to respond, and despite his brains best effort, his body remained a stone, subject to the inability to save the one thing it needed to function.

 

“Fine,” Ian breathed out in front of him, the word rising in a white puff of air. “I’m done.”

 

Ian turned, stepping away from Mickey and towards the city beyond them.

 

A deep feeling rose in Mickey as he watched Ian get farther away, a powerful pull racing through him and tugging all his thoughts towards the retreating man like a magnet. This feeling, this growingly constant feeling that Mickey had grown to hate was now boiling over. It hurt him, pained his body with an ache it needed to lose, an ache he knew he could not continue living with.

 

Against his better judgment, against everything and anything he’d ever believed in his life, Mickey stepped forward, finally succumbing to the feeling. With tears prickling in his eyes, Mickey took another step, opening his mouth and calling out to Ian in a shaky voice.

 

“But, Ian,” Mickey’s voice was unrecognizable, nothing hinting its normal snark, and Ian stopped from where he’d made it, a short distance in front of Mickey under the dark train tracks. Mickey took his pause to finally release the feeling into the night air where he’d never be able to hide it again. “I love you.”

 

The words floated in the air around them, hanging like a secret that Mickey had finally let free. He watched Ian turn, heart pounding as he waited to see his reactions, fearing it hadn’t be enough to make him stay.

 

“What?” The word left Ian’s mouth with confusion, the red-head’s face wiped clean of anger and hurt, eyes now wide in surprise and something else Mickey couldn’t place. “What did you say?” Ian repeated, walking slowly towards Mickey.

 

“I said I love you,” Mickey’s voice was calm, but he knew his face was like Ian’s, both boys amazed at the words coming out of Mickey’s mouth.

 

He’d been hiding it for so long, not only from the world but from himself that releasing the words into the night caused Mickey to shiver at their meaning. Ian hadn’t responded, his face focused again on Mickey, and the brunette was afraid he was going to start yelling again.

 

But as he took the final steps to close the gap between them, Mickey heard Ian whisper out a quiet “Oh Mickey”, and suddenly there were lips on his own, cold hands cupping his face and neck, a spark shooting to his toes as Ian gripped him tight.

 

And that’s when Mickey knew, knew Ian felt it too, parting his lips and bringing his hands up to Ian’s hips and pulling them together tight. Ian’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, their lips molding together easily, tongues sliding needily in each other’s mouths.

 

“Don’t go,” Mickey breathed against Ian’s lips between kisses, heart pounding when Ian moaned out a quiet “Okay” in response. Mickey felt himself being moved backwards, his body hitting the cement leg of the L tracks with a gentle thump, Ian’s legs coming around to straddle Mickey’s own.

 

Sheltered from the wind by Ian’s broad form, Mickey let himself sink into the heat coming from them together, the moans escaping from his throat without care now as Ian grinded against him. He scraped his nails up under Ian’s tee-shirt, clawing at his back, needing Ian closer and with him, taking comfort in the tugs on his hair he got in response.

 

Mickey had no idea how long they stayed like that, clinging to each other greedily, kissing and grinding underneath the L until their lips were raw and all they could do was hold each other confirm they were there. When they walked back to the Gallagher house, their hands stayed locked comfortably between them, arms gone numb long ago from the cold. Neither of them cared though, Ian grinning carelessly at Mickey in the early morning light, and Mickey only poked him in the ribs in return, heart full of warmth and optimism that they could take on each day as it came.

 

When they made love under the hot shower water, Mickey didn’t stifle his moans, instead letting them echo off the walls of the tiny bathroom, no longer afraid that someone may hear, but instead wanting them to, laughing blissfully when Lip pounded on the door yelling.

 

Ian turned him so they were facing each other, and Mickey wrapped his legs around Ian’s slim waist, letting the water pour over them as Ian rolled his hips up into Mickey against the shower wall. They came together, Mickey moaning Ian’s named into his short, soaked strands of hair, feeling Ian’s mouth mould a mark into his collarbone where it would peak over his shirt collars.

 

They went to bed as the rest of the house was making their way to the kitchen, leaving the bedroom door open and crawling into Ian’s small bed with tired movements. Mickey snuggled into Ian’s side, resting his head in Ian’s soft neck, legs tangling together and arms thrown around each other so that there wasn’t a part of them that wasn’t touching.

 

When Ian nuzzled his lips down to Mickey’s ear, the older boy was already half-asleep, the comfort swarming him completely, his ears just catching the hushed words exhaled into his hair.

 

“I love you too Mickey.”

 

And Mickey felt it. The love, trust, hope in Ian’s words, snuggling closer and kissing the spot where’s Ian’s heartbeat fluttered against his neck.

 

The feeling was there, and this time he would never let it go away.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this over a lengthy period of time, so sorry if some of the parts have a different feel to them. But thanks for reading!! And as always, prompts/feedback is appreciated!! xxx


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